


Purple

by mapleandmahogany



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: #coulsonlives, M/M, PWP, Panty Kink, Pheels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mapleandmahogany/pseuds/mapleandmahogany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know how these things start, where Phil and Clint have been working together and flirting for ages but haven't done anything about it until...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purple

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by fanart. Fairly mild and campy panty kink, but mostly feelings. My heart to Q and A for the encouragement and beta help.

“Oh. I-” Phil said. 

Just that. _Oh. I._ left hanging out there, hovering in the awkward space between him and Clint, in the SHIELD locker room. 

Clint was looking at Phil with a surprised expression, chest and feet bare, his hands frozen on the pants he was mid-way pulling up. 

Phil had expected him to be changing, sure. Maybe even in the shower, which was always a nice look on Clint but Phil was nothing if not tactful. He had long since perfected the art of appreciating Clint’s body (wet _or_ dry in all states of dress) while maintaining the appearance of professionalism.

So if Clint had merely been naked in the locker room there wouldn’t have been an issue.  
Or if Clint had been in his usual boxer briefs --which always fit him beautifully, a soft, cotton-lycra blend that provided a nice and visible level of support around the package (Phil had discreetly observed) but weren’t too tight-- but Clint was wearing something purple. 

A thin fabric in a deep purple with a sheen that caught the light, maybe actual silk Phil thought, and it stretched over the curve of Clint’s soft cock and the bulge of his balls. There was a hint of lace edging along the sides that formed a sharp V up and over his hips, and while he knew that Clint generally chose to maintain his body hair if current assignment allowed the luxury of time, there was soft, dark hair tufting just beyond the elastic edges. 

Phil wished that he had taken all of this in, in an instant, maybe due to his superior skills of observation as a super secret agent? But unfortunately, no. He stared. Gawped even (yes, gawped: _Brit slang: to stare stupidly. To gape._ ) with that damn “Oh. I-” and nothing more, like he had a cartoon speech bubble “dot-dot-dot” over his head to punctuate exactly how speechless he was. 

Clint was the first to recover. His caught-out look of alarm slid into a carefully crafted smirk as he yanked his pants up and closed them. “Phil. Shit. Um - ’s going on, man?”

But Clint’s considerate effort to repair the awkwardness was no use. Phil was already flubbing through a burgled, “sorry, nevermind, I’ll just” and ending with a particularly dignified “ehnkegh” as he fled the locker room.

They'd just fifteen minutes earlier wrapped an intel debrief after relocating to the west coast. It was late, a little after midnight at the L.A. HQ and they were in the senior staff facility. At least there wasn’t anyone else around. 

“Phil!” Clint called after him. “Aw, c’mon. Hold up!”

Phil made it as far as another row of lockers, his suitcase and garment bag in tow, and stopped. He had royally mangled that encounter but was not going to actually flee the scene for god’s sake. He wasn’t going to make Clint _chase him_. He clenched his jaw, stepped aside and sat on an empty bench in the next aisle. He could hear a shower running in the distance over the pounding pulse in his ears.

“Phil!” Clint rounded the corner and stopped suddenly when he saw him. “Oh, hey.” He had his boots, jacket, and belt gathered in his arms. Phil was glad he’d stopped since it appeared that Clint would have actually chased him out into the hall, half dressed and calling his name. That’d definitely make the gossip rounds.

“I’m here,” he said unnecessarily. Quietly. Looking at his knees.

Clint exhaled heavily. 

Phil had heard that sound a thousand times in his comm, right between accepting an order he didn’t agree with, and cracking a joke about it. He tossed his boots on the floor near Phil’s feet and set the rest of his things on the bench with another sigh of exasperation and a look of great patience. He remained standing and tugged his white t-shirt the rest of the way down, he’d apparently only just pulled it on, barely down to his ribs, and then he began threading his belt through the loops.

Phil cast a quick look up at him, trying to acknowledge him with a weak smile, to be polite, except that his cursed eyes paused at Clint’s crotch again, visualizing the purple _panties_ before realizing what he was doing and looked at his knees again. 

“I handled that really poorly,” Phil said. It, at least, came out sounding as sincere as he meant it. His face was burning and he pursed his lips together hard in effort to keep his composure.

“Yeah, you did,” Clint said. His agreement was just kinda...funny. He was calling Phil out without making it a big deal. 

Phil chuckled, a giddy release of guilty conscience and Clint laughed with him.

“But now what I’m trying to figure out is...” Clint finished buckling his belt and straddled the bench to sit facing Phil. “Are you freaking out ‘cause you liked what you what saw, or because you’re like, morally offended by it?”

Everything about Clint’s manner, his tone of voice, the cool smirk and the tension in his shoulders as he oh-so-casually pulled on his socks, said that he was actually worried about Phil’s opinion of him and trying not to show it.

Phil made himself meet Clint’s eyes, even though the humiliation burned him to do it. He wasn’t going to let Clint bear any kind of shame. “I was _not_ offended. Morally or otherwise.” His voice sounded reasonably sheepish but not angry, he thought. He wanted to Clint to believe him.

“‘kay. Cool,” Clint said, slowly and suspicious, and then his gaze turned shrewd making Phil look down again. 

“I apologize if I made you uncomfortable,” Phil said. “That was, that was completely inappropriate of me.”

“What? How you were eye-fucking me back there?” Clint pointed a thumb back over his shoulder with a challenging smartass grin, but then he chuckled, reached for a boot and shoved his foot into it. “Yeah, because you and I are all about _appropriate_.”

Phil huffed and rolled his eyes but it was the same fond annoyance he’d directed at Clint from their first assignment together to just a few minutes earlier when Clint had informed him they were going out for a drink. And that’s the thing, at this stage of the game, Clint was one of Phil’s best friends, far beyond mutual professional respect. Clint had never bought into the shop-talk about Agent Coulson being stone cold and only caring about the paperwork. Anyone who paid attention knew that Phil cracked jokes all the time; it’s just that most people didn’t catch it. They thought he was just odd. Sarcastic.

But Clint had always laughed and turned it right back at him. He was the only agent that threw out high-fives and fist-bumps and would throw an arm around Phil’s shoulder and haul him to the bar for a post-mission round of beers with the rest of the team. Clint understood him, in a way that most people didn’t. 

“But so, I gotta ask you, man, and because you owe me now,” Clint continued, “you’ve seen me _naked_ before, and never reacted like that.” Clint reached for his other boot and paused. “So is your kink just looking at ‘em or you like wearing ‘em, too?”

Phil sighed, feeling ridiculous and overheated and he jabbed his thumb against the inner corner of his eye and pressed a firm stroke along his brow bone against the pressure in his head. But he raised his head and squared his shoulders. He’d gone toe to toe with heads of state (hell, he'd gone toe to toe with _Nick Fury_ ) he could sure as hell face his unexpected reactions to Clint’s goddamned frilly underwear.

“ _Clint_. For pete’s sake... You already know that I like...” He paused, because Clint had known he was gay for ages, though Phil rarely spoke about his private life. “I appreciate the aesthetic of it. Of that. Attractive clothing. Attractive people _in_ attractive clothing. But there’s no one I’ve ever been with who’d’ve worn...” He cleared his throat then, wanting to redirect. “That being said, I was just coming to tell you I was ready to go. I didn’t expect you to be wearing-” 

He waved vaguely in Clint’s direction making him flush and then laugh. Phil was relieved that Clint didn’t seem pissed at him. He’d feel badly if he’d made Clint feel ashamed or embarrassed. He was the one coiling in shame over being so blatant.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, pal” --Clint kind of laughed, reluctant, pausing in tying his boot-laces--“I like it when you look. How many times have I worn whatever suits or civilian clothes you told me to, right down to the damned buttons, because you said to?”

“That has always been for the benefit of the assignment,” Phil said, attempting to muster indignation. “Tactical black is seldom practical.”

“I call bullshit on that, too. I'm a big boy, I know how to dress according to assignment just fine. No other handler gives me wardrobe specs like you do.”

“I,” Phil tried not to stumble over his denial because he did enjoy seeing Clint dress the part, “I have never compromised mission integrity because I, because...”

“I’m not saying you have.” Clint left his foot on the bench and kept his elbow propped on his bent knee. “I’m saying you get off on telling me what to wear. And I always wear what you tell me to, don’t I?”

“You complain plenty,” Phil said, a weak protest. Clint had seen right through him, always had.

“Hell yeah I do. I hate wearing suits, you know that. And fucking polo shirts. Jesus, are you kidding me?” Clint’s voice was full of energy and playful sarcasm.

Phil wondered if he’d ever really betrayed himself. If Clint had spotted a tell. Maybe he’d looked too long one time, let his eyes linger where they shouldn’t have, and somewhere along the line had become that creepy boss?

But he was sure he hadn’t. Clint could always just see things for what they were. He smiled, and remembered that Clint was wearing the underwear. Right there, just out of sight, sliding against Clint’s body, stretching and moving against him as he moved.

"You’re thinking about them now, aren't you?" Clint shifted, letting his propped up thigh fall slightly open. 

Phil nodded. Guilty.

Clint grinned, rubbed the palms of both his hands up and down his thighs, and maybe it was just a nervous gesture, drying his sweaty palms, a fidget to cover the awkwardness, the confessions, but it was only serving to draw more attention to what lay between Clint’s thighs. 

He and Phil both caught each other’s eyes and glanced away, faces red but smiling. At least they were both embarrassed and, thankfully, good enough friends to laugh about it.

“I’m sorry,” Phil said again. He wondered if Clint would accept his apology for being so overt in his attraction. They could survive it, he thought. The choking edge of Phil’s embarrassment would eventually go down and maybe Clint would tease him sometimes, about having a crush, but he wouldn’t hold it against him. And Phil could redouble his effort to be professional, to be a friend without ulterior motives, because having Clint in his life was worth it.

“Nah. Don’t apologize.”

Phil took a breath to argue but decided against it. 

“Alright.” Just let it go, Phil thought. Clint seemed to be trying to make this easy on him.

But Clint let out a grumbled exhale and slid right up close to him, ducking his head to get into Phil’s line of sight. 

“God damn it,” he said, voice low but without any real anger. “I meant, there’s no _need_ to apologize.”

“Right. I got that.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, dragging the syllable out slowly and bobbing his head up and down, like he was waiting for Phil to understand something. “Because I like it when you get off on what I'm wearing.”

“Oh,” Phil said, dumbly.

Clint face was open, his natural expression tending towards stern, which made it even more warm when he smiled smile. His gaze glanced down to Phil’s mouth, and back up, eyebrows going up in question. There was no misinterpreting his intention. 

“ _Oh,_ ” Phil said again, and then he really wanted to kiss Clint. 

That was a baseline desire, truth be told, he always wanted to kiss Clint, but that desire had just spiked all previously known measurement. If Phil wasn’t a master at self-discipline (the last few minutes notwithstanding) he’d give it up and give in right then. Instead, he pressed his lips together, grinning, feeling his whole body warm up again and he let himself list ever so slightly into Clint’s personal space. 

An echo of footsteps and the clatter of a locker door sounded in the large room, reminding them that they weren’t entirely alone.

“Did you still wanna get that drink?” Clint asked, his voice was low, something careful in his tone that sounded like he wasn’t asking about going to a bar.

“I’m ...open to suggestions.”

“Okay. Then, I think you should come back to mine. Maybe, maybe we’ll get breakfast instead?”

Phil swallowed, trying to find his voice. His throat had gone dry. He touched the knuckles of his curled fingers lightly to Clint’s thigh, just above his knee. “I’ll back that plan.”

Clint smirked, pressed his hand over Phil’s so that it opened, making Phil’s fingers curl over the top of his leg. Then the carefully controlled tension that been in Clint’s shoulders evaporated. He chuckled and his whole body looked at ease, playful and utterly gorgeous. Phil could hardly get his head around the idea that Clint was excited about _him_. He was still trying to accept the fact that Clint was wearing panties, soft and delicate over all that muscle.

“I’ll drive,” Phil said.

“Like hell. I am.”

“What ride you got?”

Clint pulled the keys from his pocket and dangled the ring from a finger. Phil was sure they belonged to a little two-seater, probably cherry red, very fast and something from the SHIELD impound lot. Agent Briggs in the motor-pool was a buddy and always trusted the sweetest cars to Clint because he knew how to handle them. Phil had once been present for a long, innuendo-laced conversation about curves, grilles and handling sticks. 

“Yeah, alright. You drive,” Phil agreed. He wouldn’t deny Clint the pleasure.

Phil worked on his tablet during the drive, or attempted to. He tried to ignore the acceleration and sharp turns but kept grinning out the window. Clint did handle cars well, and he wasn’t hot-rodding or showing off for Phil’s sake. They’d gone through that phase years ago. 

He was just speeding. He was in a hurry to get back to the condo, where, Phil assumed, he was going to let Phil see the purple panties, to see _him_ , and to touch. 

Phil hadn’t realized his heart rate had sped up until he took a reflexive gasping breath as he ran short on oxygen. Looking out the window, he saw it was beginning to rain, making everything shimmer and blur but he wasn’t really seeing their location anyway. He felt Clint’s hand cover his and saw Clint glance at him, still driving but sending him a small smile and an unasked question of assurance. And yes, absolutely _yes_ , Phil answered by squeezing Clint’s fingers. Phil smiled back at him, too. 

Phil knew he had several smiles, he could use them to different effect; threatening, condescending, or to convince someone of his sincerity and that he could be trusted. Phil was pretty sure the smile currently taking over his face was just a big giant nerd smile and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

They were holding hands. They’d held each other in freezing snow and tended unsavory wounds, but this wasn’t within the scope of preservation of life, or even adrenaline fueled camaraderie. This was affectionate. As silly as the innocent gesture was, Phil was grateful for it. 

Clint chuckled and squeezed Phil’s hand in return before withdrawing it to turn the steering wheel. 

In the parking lot they hefted their luggage out of the trunk and Phil felt Clint’s hand pause on his back as they walked up with pathway.

Once inside they dropped their things and automatically separated, sweeping the dark apartment in opposite directions. It was a standard furnished SHIELD condo; they’d stayed there before (it was excellently positioned for strategic defense and escape) but habit dictated they secure the space anyway.

Phil was the first to finish his half of the perimeter and he ended in the bedroom. He stood for a moment, in the light that streamed in from the hall, waiting for Clint to walk in.

“Clear? Ready to proceed, sir?” Clint asked.

“Ten-4,” Phil said, giving him an affirmative nod.

Clint took another step closer, and Phil shifted close enough that they nearly touched. He could feel the heat coming off Clint’s body, see the day’s stubble growth along his jaw. 

“Can I take your tie off?” Clint asked.

Phil nodded and adjusted his stance, shifting evenly onto both feet and straightening up. Clint did the job smoothly, tugging the knot just loose enough to slip out from under his collar and then unbuttoned the top button, then the next, and then one more and it was well that Clint’s hands slipped inside his shirt collar and pulled him close because Phil needed to be kissed by him. The press of their lips together was relief. This had been building between them for as long as Phil could remember and he’d thought it would have escalated to an aggressive libido-fueled frenzy-fuck, but instead it felt _warm_. Warm as in safe and stable and _right_. Phil pulled back just enough to check in, to see Clint’s eyes and without a word spoken they agreed. They moved together just like they had to secure the apartment, just like they did every assignment together, and the mission at hand was undressing each other. They moved with precision, like the secret agents they were. Shoes, socks, Phil’s jacket and shirt, his pants and all of Clint’s clothes save for the delicate panties swiftly ended on the floor, between kisses and moments of groping. 

Phil held Clint’s hips and pulled him along as he backed up to the bed so he could sit and see the pretty silk up close. Clint was hard, the ridges of vein and glans pressing against the thin fabric. Clint’s natural build was solid, cut muscle and broad planes, rough where hair and scars marked his skin. The very physicality of him stood in contrast to the flimsy panties barely covering him. Phil loved it, less because it was meant to be dirty, but because of the oddity, maybe. Not much about Phil’s apparent normality was actually normal. 

“Hey. Buddy?” Clint said, cupping the side of Phil’s neck, thumb rubbing the back of his skull. “You changing your mind?”

“I’m just finding myself conflicted,” Phil said, his fingers fanning around Clint’s hips while both thumbs stroke over the material pulled taut from Clint’s erection. 

The tension Clint’s body gave a little, slumping in disappointment. 

“Look, it’s cool if you need to tap out, okay?”

Phil realized that what he’d just said sounded like apprehension.

“Not about you!” he said quickly, looking up at Clint and squeezing him closer. He pressed a kiss to the center of Clint’s abdomen, just below his ribs and looked up again. “Not about this. What I mean is...” He pulled away to gaze at the panties again. “I keep wanting to get you out of them, but I really don’t want to take them off.” He teased a finger under the edge, stretching the elastic lace edge.

“Oh.” Clint’s voice was doing that ‘sound casual but actually relieved’ thing. “In that case,” he curved forward so his mouth was just above Phil’s ear while he hugged Phil close, stroking his shoulder and back of his neck. “Can I make a suggestion?”

“Please.” Phil’s voice muffled into Clint’s stomach while he tilted his head against Clint’s lips.

“You could put your mouth on the material. It’s thin, practically nothing at all.” Clint’s breath was hot against his temple and he kissed Phil on the spot before continuing. “And when you’re ready, just pull ‘em down enough to take me out.”

Phil would never admit making a sound that could be categorized as ‘whimpering’, but there was a sound made in a questionable pitch.

“God, Clint. Yes..” He tipped his head up and Clint kissed him, holding his jaw gently, scruffing up his hair on the other side, and then kissed him more deeply.

“Can you?” Phil started to ask, but Clint seemed to know what he was after. They were a great team, afterall.

Clint climbed up and stretched out on the bed, pushing a pillow under his the back of his head, grinning and looking comfortable. Phil followed him up, laying along side him, kissing his stomach and inching back down to exhale humid breath along the front of the panties. He pressed his mouth to the material, just like Clint had suggested, his lips curving over the contour of Clint’s cock. He alternated kisses and wet suctioned pressure, wetting the fabric and making it stick. 

Clint seemed to revel in the attention and the touch. He lay back, eyes open and glassy, encouraging Phil. 

“Yeah, sir, that’s it,” he said, looking down at him, touching Phil’s face and neck. “They’re nice, right? You like ‘em? They’re soft...”

“They are,” Phil agreed. A part of him wanted to question Clint’s use of ‘sir’ but he trusted that Clint had his reasons and Phil sure wasn’t going to complain. “They’re so pretty. But.” Phil pushed up onto one elbow, stroking over the damp-darkened material. “It’s you, really. It’s you that makes them beautiful.”

Phil saw Clint’s surprise at the compliment just before hooking a finger in the waistband and pulled the front down. He kissed and sucked along Clint’s bared shaft, just like he had over the panties, only holding the fabric just out of the way. Phil pulled away just enough to feel Clint’s cock flexing against his lips, like it was requesting more touch. Phil was eager to accommodate. He opened his mouth over the head and sucked strong and slow.

Clint let out a low moan and Phil’s mental upper-management-tie-wearing-geek fist-pumped a _yes!_ hearing the sound rumble deep in Clint’s throat. Phil was responsible for that.

He reached around and pulled the underwear part-way down his ass so the fabric would stay where he had it stretched across Clint’s balls. He leaned back to lick his lips and to wet Clint’s skin before taking him in again. Phil appreciated giving head, objectively speaking, in a general context, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed it so much.

Clint trembled and shifted, watching Phil the whole time. 

Phil never stopped moving his hands, sliding his fingers over silky fabric, the ruffled elastic edges and Clint’s bared skin. The pulled-aside panties only presented the illusion that what lie under the fabric was hidden away. Phil still touched all of him, sliding his thumb over his tightening balls and his fingertips along the crease of Clint’s ass, slow but nothing hesitant in his exploration. He knew exactly what he wanted.

“Jesus, fuck, fuck _Phil_. You gotta stop. Give me second here.”

Phil chuckled and wiped at his wet face as he pushed himself up onto his knees. He tugged off his undershirt but still left his boxers on (he had a plan for them, if he could stick with it long enough) and then climbed forward, settling himself over Clint. He was gorgeous and looked completely comfortable being naked with the panties pulled halfway down. 

“You want me to take them off?” Clint offered.

“Not yet.” Phil pushed himself up enough to appreciate the view of his hand stroking over the panties, over Clint’s cock, and then he nudged Clint’s hip and met his eyes, silently asking him to turn over. 

Clint smirked, chuckled a “oh yeah,” and rolled over, one knee bent to the side creating an angle of his hip and pulling the underwear tight across his ass.

“Knew you loved showing it off,” Phil said, catching the edge and letting it snap back.

“Knew you loved checking it out.”

“Hm, guilty,” Phil said, straddling one of Clint’s thighs and touching Clint’s back. He ran his hand over the ridge of muscles along Clint’s spine, the dimples on his lower back and squeezed the fabric over the swell of his ass. 

Phil stretched out over Clint, shifting his weight onto one elbow, his forehead on Clint’s shoulder blade, while he pushed his boxers down enough to pull out his cock and let it slide over the silky material.

“That’s right. You gonna slide your dick over those panties. Mess ‘em up?”

Phil groaned an acknowledgment. He wanted to admonish the dirty talk, to shush him and roll his eyes but the truth was that Clint had it right. He did want to feel the panties against his cock, to see the fabric darken from the aroused moisture he’d begun producing. 

“Hey.” Clint turned his head to Phil; they weren’t even really kissing, just straining to be close, nuzzling and pressing cheek to cheek. Clint’s voice was deep, breathless. “What do you want, hm? You want to fuck me?”

Phil paused, and took a deep breath, intentionally trying to regroup and _think_. 

“I …it wasn’t my intention to move so fast. Tonight.” Phil took another steadying breath, taking in the scent of Clint’s sweat. “But I want. God, I do.”

“Yeah well, that makes two of us.” 

Phil surged up, kissing Clint over his shoulder and looking at him directly. He needed the eye contact to be sure, to communicate the part of really wanting this that words alone didn’t convey. He watched Clint’s facial expression slowly fade from the lusty smirk to a sweet smile.

“Stuff’s in my bag over there,” Clint said, indicating with a nod of his head.

They took another moment to smile at each other, it was a little awkward and sideways but the moment also felt soppy, almost romantic and they broke into a quiet laughter before Phil shoved off of him to retrieve what he was after.

“So tell me.” Phil dropped his voice low, almost secretive. “Do you wear other things, too?” 

He sat on the bed behind Clint, between his thighs. He let his fingertips glide over the silky fabric, the raised callus of his trigger finger sounding a thwisp across the fiber. 

Clint pushed onto his forearm, propped his head on his hand, and looked back over his shoulder. 

“Like, dresses and heels and shit? No. Why, you into that?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Phil shrugged a shoulder. “Possibly? I’m beginning to suspect my preferences are influenced greatly by the person wearing the clothing and not just the items in question.”

“N’aww, boss,” Clint teased, poking Phil’s knee with his toes. “You like me!” 

Phil huffed a silent laugh and didn’t even think before raising his hand and smacking Clint on the ass. It wasn’t even hard enough to sting, but the breath caught in Clint’s throat and he let out a surprised and stuttered chuckle. “Oh! Oh, yeah, you and I are gonna have to compare lists.”

Phil might have been a little embarrassed by the confession of kink his swatting had been, but Clint’s flushed skin and breathlessness was an equal confession of a complimentary kink. 

“I agree,” Phil said, and had to clear his throat. 

He’d begun squeezing Clint’s ass, at first just rubbing over the spot he’d smacked, but then squeezing, massaging at the curve of muscle, making Clint groan. His squeezing grip slowly pulled the panties aside. Holding him spread with one hand, he poured a thin stream of lubricant from the bottle onto him. Clint let out a mewling noise, high and encouraging, and Phil caught the liquid with his thumb, stroking, circling and pressing until pressing _inside_ became a part of the massage. 

“Tell me about the panties,” Phil said, his own cock hard and untouched while both hands were working on Clint.

“Ah. Um...” Clint seemed to struggle to find his voice, which was gratifying itself. He could quip and smartass through every situation Phil had ever seen him in, and it was his fingers that were making him speechless. 

Phil leaned down, and kissed the round flesh of his ass. 

“Tell me?” he asked again.

“Just, it was - oh, fuck.” Clint arched, clenching around Phil’s fingers. He stilled until Clint relaxed and started talking again. “Like, I had an an itch for something, you know? Something sexy, a little dirty. Something I’d be aware of. I might have just have worn my leather vest, maybe eyeliner and my jewelry?” Phil had seen him wear all of that, loved when he wore the silver rings on his fingers. It was one of Clint’s ‘characters’, one of his looks - it was a _good_ look. “But that stuff’s all with my gear in New York. I forgot I had these until I found them in my locker. Picked ‘em up in... shit - Amsterdam, I think? ”

“So you put them on tonight? Knowing we were gonna go get a beer, maybe play pool?”

“Damn straight. You woulda checked out my ass when I leaned over the pool table.”

“And you would have been wearing these and I’d have to pretend I wasn’t looking.”

Clint chuckled and never stopped grinning when Phil rolled on a condom, poured more lube and then laid over Clint’s back.

“Phil?” Clint tipped his head back, seeking another contact point. “It’s been awhile, you know?”

Phil pressed a kiss to his shoulder, nodding his understanding. “Really slow.”

Clint nodded, apprehension giving way to a vacant expression of want.

Phil lost time after that, the rush of his pulse creating a white noise in the tense silence as he pressed inside Clint. Every tight inhale and gasped exhale was a communication. It was all Phil could do to not to screw his eyes shut against so much sensation, but Clint would nod when he was okay, tensing his shoulders with held breath and eventually relaxing again. Phil went as slow as he could, waiting for their bodies to ease together. Phil kissed Clint’s shoulders, his back, pressed his cheek to Clint’s warm skin, nuzzling him while he waited.

“Holy fuck,” Clint whispered after several minutes. “Jesus, Phil.” 

“Yeah.”

Phil didn’t try to withdraw, just pressed forward, deeper and sighed at how good it felt. They rocked together, no real rhythm, no goal of coming, they just arched and pushed, finding the ends of themselves and how they fit together. 

“Come on, yeah,” said Clint, push back with his back curved and low, like a cat. “Good now.”

Phil didn’t question, didn’t wait, just shifted up onto his knees, pulling Clint back by the hips with him. He pulled the seat of the underwear aside again and began to thrust. It was needy and hard and Clint reacted loudly, partly laughing through grunts, shaky and satisfied. They didn’t stop for a long time, pausing to catch breath, regain leverage with their knees and then moving again.

Phil did love the silky panties; the color, the soft texture, the something delicate and pretty over Clint’s hard, rugged body. They had piqued an interest that Phil had never had the chance to explore but the novelty of it was paling in the actual bodily experience of fucking Clint Barton. 

“Can we - I want to change up,” Phil said, rubbing Clint’s back and over his hip. 

“Hm?” Clint murmured, and Phil couldn’t see much of his facial expression but Clint sounded blissed out, like he wasn’t interested in the details at all. Phil liked seeing how he’d relaxed into this, given himself over. It made Phil feel protective and he wanted to nurture that. “I’m gonna pull out,” he said, softly. “Real easy.”

Clint let out a displeased noise and followed Phil’s gentle pushes to turn onto his back and slide the panties off. 

“Over it already, huh?” Clint asked, sounding like he was trying to be cheeky but mainly just sounding tired. Phil pulled the underwear off his foot and then kissed the inside of his bent knee, shifting over top of him.

“I’ll never be over it. They were perfect. Thank you,” Phil said, pushing Clint’s knee up. Clint helped, pulling both knees up and kissed Phil when he leaned down. “Ready?” Phil whispered warning, holding the condom secure and his cock steady as he pressed forward.

Clint chuckled low, groaning and swearing as they started to move again. “I don’t know why I ever thought you’d be shy in bed - _god damn._ ”

“Not shy. Modest maybe. Careful.” Phil shifted his weight so he could take Clint’s cock in hand. “But no, not shy.”

“Nothing for you to be modest about,” Clint said. His hands were on Phil, gripping his shoulders and arms, pinching a nipple, which made Phil gasp.

“Mm-hm,” Clint murmured, filing that away. He gripped Phil’s shoulder and used his other hand to cover Phil’s, guiding Phil in jerking him off, taking control of the speed. 

“Gonna be quick, sir.”

Phil quite agreed. He let Clint take over jerking himself off, and picked up a pace that was going to have him come in only a minute. He wouldn’t have realized Clint was coming if he hadn’t been watching for it. He made no sound, for as loud as he’d been up until that point, and showed no tell, but the faint light caught the shiny-white spatter on his skin in the shadowed space between them. 

It was the flexing tremors of Clint’s body afterward that pulled orgasm out of him. The shuddering squeeze, a tight whine in Clint’s throat like it was all getting to be too much. Phil’s body locked up, couldn’t thrust, couldn’t breathe, just rolled with the aching burst in his balls, felt his awareness lapse into hazy contentment. His lizard brain was already frustrated that it was over, wanted _more_ and _again_ , not wanting to let the moment fade away. 

They collapsed together. Phil dropped the condom off the edge of the bed, unconcerned, he’d collect it with a tissue later. He was still too sensitive to move, cupping his softening cock as he and Clint rolled together. They were pressed together, legs twined, not yet breathing evenly and bodies damp. 

Phil realized that it was raining harder and was glad that some of the white noise had actually been environmental and not entirely in his head.

“Report?” he asked, wanting to kiss Clint again, but reaching to stroke the side of his face instead. 

“I’m good, man. You’re seriously packing though, buddy,” Clint said, wriggling a little, implicating a sore ass. “Nothing I wasn’t expecting. Or can’t handle. Just saying, for the sake of disclosure.”

Phil dropped his head, unable to avoid smiling and kissed the nearest bit of skin which was along Clint’s collarbone. There was probably some truth in it but he was also plainly teasing Phil. 

“That’s not exactly what I meant, but I’m glad you’re okay.” Because he hadn’t really been asking about his physical being.

Clint stroked Phil’s jaw and then pressed the bone upward so he could look Phil in the eyes. “And you?”

“Oh.” It really meant something to him that Clint cared enough to ask. Debriefings were usually one-sided. He observed that he was feeling incredibly happy, anxious, protective. “Very... content,” he finally said.

Clint looked satisfied with his answer.

“All right. Still want that breakfast?”

“In the morning though, right? After sleeping? Here?”

“Unless you feel like you gotta bail?”

“No, I’m good here. Unless you’d rather have your space?”

Clint snorted. “Shut up, sir. C’mere.” He pulled Phil closer, hugging him, yanking the tousled blanket over them. “‘M too tired to go seven rounds of Who’s Got More Anxiety with you. We just had some sweet, kinky sex and start a new op tomorrow. Let’s just sleep on it, okay? We’re good.”

“Sure. But-”

“ _Shh_.” Clint put a shushing fingers against Phil’s lips.

Phil smirked, and let himself settle against Clint’s chest, his head nestled over the hollow of his shoulder.

There was so much to think about, like whether or not they had to talk about their work boundaries, and if Clint was serious about seeing how many of their kinks and interests lined up. He wondered if Clint meant that they’d just had sweet _and_ kinky sex, or sweet-as-in- _cool_ kinky sex, because he thought the difference might be important. He wanted to know if Clint was partial to bottoming or if he’d be willing to fuck Phil, too? It surprised him to discover how badly he wanted that, for the equanimity between them but desiring it bodily as well. He might have stayed up all night long pondering the possibilities but he was orgasm-sleepy and Clint’s breathing was rocking him perfectly and his arms were heavy and warm on Phil’s back. 

Phil found that in spite of not having any of the answers or a plan of action, he still felt safe right where he was.

~

“Be on point and ready to move by 01:00,” Phil said to the assembled team. Clint sat in the back of the room, sipping the coffee he’d gotten to-go from breakfast. He raised his hand.

“Question, Hawkeye?”

“Yes, sir. Do you have a plan for me getting into building? Or do you want me to work it out?”

“Your cover is delivery driver. You can carry your weapon right through the front door inside a cardboard box,” Phil said. Clint nodded and Phil saw, out of the corner of his eye, that he rubbed a hand over his mouth, hiding a grin. 

He couldn’t wait to see Clint’s legs in the short pants of that brown uniform. 

~


End file.
